


Don't Need Anyone Else

by thosewhofall



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Q, Asexual/Sexual relationship, Asexuality, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:49:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thosewhofall/pseuds/thosewhofall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q has always been innately aware of the fact that he and Bond were going to have to cross this bridge at some point in time in their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Need Anyone Else

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi again. (I'm on a roll today) this is one of my favorites. Please bear in mind I am not an asexual person and I don't claim this to be at all representative of anything ever. This is just one way that I've heard of/seen this kind of relationship handled.

Q has always been innately aware of the fact that he and Bond were going to have to cross this bridge at some point in time in their relationship. In Q’s logical mind, he’d been glad that sex wasn’t really an issue for them, technically, it was how society seemed to measure ‘a relationship’ and therefore they were doing nothing wrong, seeing as they worked for the same company. There were rules against that in some places. MI6 didn’t really care as long as the job got done, but either way, it was how Q compartmentalized the lack of sex in their relationship.  


He had long ago stopped feeling bad about whom he was. The kids in A Levels had messed with him for being a virgin, sure, but he’d hacked their computers and emailed their internet histories to their parents for retribution. So he’d seen porn, he’d seen sex and he was fascinated by it, but at a distance. He could watch it, watch the face of a man as he came, but he felt no need to mimic the actions. It wasn’t an illness, as his parents had tried to make it out to be, it was simply who he was and Q had long ago accepted himself for whom he was.  


But now there was this new thing going on with Bond and he didn’t know how to handle it. Bond was a sexual creature, anyone with a pair of eyes and access to every minute of MI6 footage ever (okay so maybe that was just Q) could figure that out. He’d slept with more wives of more foreign dignitaries than Q had cared to keep count of. That fact alone befuddled Q. What was James Bond doing spending his time with a twenty-three year old asexual man, as opposed to the dozens of gorgeous women that would have thrown themselves at the famous James Bond?  


It was perplexing to say the least, but Q enjoyed it. He enjoyed their affection, the budding love that existed between them. He enjoyed the fact that Bond made a point to stop into Q-Branch and say hello and bring Q a cup of Earl Grey when he’d been working through the night. He appreciated that Bond could read Q, and knew that there was a point at which he needed to stop, needed to let his brain rest before it went into overload in the same way a harddrive on a computer could. And he enjoyed the fact that Bond had figured out how to take him apart and let him rest without ever pushing past a boundary that Q was uncomfortable with.  


It had been a learning experience for both of them. Q had never had anyone show attention to him in the way Bond did. It was careful and easy on Bond’s part, gentle kisses in the dark of a bedroom when they were alone and no one could tell them not to. It was letting Q’s soft hands run over scars on his chest and telling the story of each one for Q’s mind to turn over in his head. It was being cradled in the soft warmth of Bond’s chest as he slept. It was feeling safe and warm and home for the first time in several years. It was love and it terrified Q to the ends of the earth.  


There was some miniscule part of Q that wished that he could give Bond everything, but even saying that in his head brought up a montage of images in his head that made him sick, running to the bathroom and retching. He’d been there, he’d tried, he’d wanted to be ‘normal’ for a very short period in his life. It had done nothing but make him hate himself and everything that went along with it. It had made him depressed and angry and he was glad that it was over and that he had Bond and that Bond was as understanding about this as he was.  


But he knew they were eventually going to hit this bump in the road because it wasn’t just Bond in this relationship. Q knew that Bond got himself off in the bathroom, out of Q’s line of sight. He could see the tension in James’ shoulders, the strain of his cock against his suitpants. He could tell when it was becoming too much for James to restrain himself and he couldn’t help but be curious because that was his nature. Was Bond’s face as impressive as he came as some of the other men that Q had watched come?  


Q was nervous about the decision, but he forced himself to go through with it. Bond had been gone for two weeks anyway, off on a trip. Q’d had constant GPS on him and cameras for most of it but it wasn’t the same as arms and a body that was firm and warm and comfortable and safe. But now Bond was here, in the bed they’d shared for months in Q’s apartment, stretched out, long and lean against the sheets. Q had unbuttoned his shirt to brush his fingers over the new bruises, press shy kisses against flushed skin. Bond had kissed him, and it had made Q’s head spin.  


But Q could always tell when Bond thought he was going to cross a line. He was disentangling himself from Q’s arms, claiming need to use the bathroom. “James.” Q had said, sitting on the bed on the side of his hip, legs out to the side, one arm holding himself up. “Don’t…don’t go in there, please?”  


The man stopped and had Q squinted he might have actually been able to see the shiver run up Bond’s spine. “Q?” James asked, turning back around to face him. Q swallowed at the bulge in his pants. He’d known it was there, both of them had.  


“Just…you don’t have to…I don’t want you to…” Q took a deep breath and rolled his eyes, “I want to watch.” He decided on finally. “I want to see your face when you come.”  


The sound that came out of Bond’s mouth was something inhuman as he moved slowly back to the bed, reaching to cup Q’s cheek and kiss his lips gently, “Are you sure? I don’t want to…do anything to upset you.”  


Q nodded, “I’m sure, this won’t. I’m not involved, this isn’t about me, it’s about you. I’m…I’m your boyfriend, you’re mine. I just want to see your face. I want to watch you…watch you get off knowing that you’re thinking about me.”  


Few things made Q hesitate in his speech or stutter like this, he was usually very sure of the words that exited his mouth but in this situation, it was unprecedented. Bond’s eyes searched Q’s and then he nodded, wetting his lips as one hand stroked against Q’s cheek with his thumb and the other flicked at the button on his pants. He eased them down enough so that he could get his cock out, hard and wet at the tip. Q watched Bond’s face, rather than what he was doing below the belt.  


It was intense, to have the eyes of a trained killer, the eyes of a man who had lived the life that Bond had lived focused on him. But Q held his gaze. He scooted closer, leaning his face into Bond’s touch his body close to the elder’s. A small smile played on his lips as Bond’s eyes burned dark with need and desire.  


“You are so beautiful.” James whispered, and Q felt a shiver run down his spine from the power behind the words. James eyes fell closed for a moment when Q nodded closer to press a kiss to Bond’s temple, and Bond’s hand fell to rest between Q’s shoulder blades as Q rested his forehead against James’. “Quinn.” Q jolted when his real name fell from Bond’s lips, a curse and a moan wrapped around each other, and he smiled again; glad to know that this really was about him, that Bond really did keep Q in his head, not some other person who had been a Quartermaster.  


Q glanced down, head cocking to the side as he watched the weathered hand run along the hardened cock, a knowing grip, a practiced move. His own hand rested on Bond’s bare chest, short nails running gently against the skin, drawing shapes. He moved it to Bond’s nipple and glanced quickly back to Bond’s face to see his reaction, smiling when an actual curse fell from the agent’s lips. Q rolled the beaded nipple between his fingers experimentally, and he looked up afraid when Bond’s body tensed beneath his hand, but instead he saw a half-open mouth and Bond’s eyes burning. He kissed James quickly, nuzzling against his cheek, moving back so he could watch Bond as the throes of orgasm took him.  


Bond’s face contorted in a way that was as different and new as it was intriguing and beautiful. Q felt pride swell. It was him on Bond’s mind that had given his partner such pleasure. He smiled and rested his head on Bond’s shoulder as he caught his breath, one hand covered in come, but the other one stroking along his back gently. “You didn’t have to do this.” Bond murmured. “I would never have asked.”  


Q sat up to look at James, “I wanted to do it. I wanted it for you.” He smiled, “Did you enjoy it?”  


James huffed a laugh and ran his hand up Q’s back to pull his head close for a kiss. “Very much.”  


Q couldn’t keep the grin off of his face when he pulled away, “Bond…” It slid off for a moment as his tongue darted over his lips, “Why did you choose me? Of everyone? Why would THE James Bond pick a partner…like me?”  


Bond sighed and sat up more, eyes on Q’s, “Because THE James Bond reevaluated his values in life and what is important is the way you smile when you see me and how happy you are right now. It’s the way you look when you’re staring at a computer screen and how you look when you’re looking at someone like they’ve lost it entirely.” A soft smile was still on James’ lips, “You’re perfect just the way you are, Q. And I don’t need anyone else.”  


Q nodded and buried his face into Bond’s shoulder, taking a deep breath and letting the agent’s words sink in, “Thank you.” He said, softly, against the skin he found there.  
“No, Quinn.” Another shiver at his real name, “Thank you.”


End file.
